


The Broken Circle

by Ihtafeer, sarenis



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, The Last Guardian, Warcraft spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihtafeer/pseuds/Ihtafeer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarenis/pseuds/sarenis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would have young Khadgar’s fate changed, had he followed the Guardian to Karazhan instead of hunting orcs in Elwynn Forest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Warcraft Movie and the amazing book ‘The Last Guardian’ by Jeff Grubb.

The arcane wave erupted from beneath the foliage like a geyser and stroke right into the Fel's core. Khadgar just stood there, his jaw slightly dropped, horrified by the sight of bloodthirsty beasts dropping down the ground one by one, screaming, writhing in agony. In all this cacophony he almost missed the sound that was far more terrifying.

The Guardian yanked his hand away from the ground with a quiet moan and faltered.

"Guardian!" finally startled out of his trance-like state, Khadgar dove at Medivh's side catching him carefully before the magus fell. His dark cloak trimmed with raven feathers was spotless, hair combed neatly, but Medivh himself looked like the very life was drained out of him. Too pale, too fragile – almost a ghost of himself, barely resembling the person Khadgar first met in the library. But how could he know what the Guardian was like at all?

The barrier around them, ruffling, shimmering, began to fade slowly, weakened by the enormous arcane blast. It wouldn't shield them from the direct attack anymore. Medivh scattered it with a simple wave of his hand, trembling slightly.

"What did you do?" Khadgar asked but Medivh ignored him utterly and jerked away, releasing himself from the young man's arms. He then grabbed the staff from Khadgar's hand, visibly keeping himself standing by sheer will and stubbornness, and spun around to swiftly draw another circle in the dirt. The pale blue light trailed after the end of his staff and Khadgar recognized one of the sigils.

Teleportation.

"Where are you going?"

How could he just leave like that, in the middle of a battle? Khadgar looked around nervously and noticed that the monsters that had survived the Guardian's attack had already fled. Still...

"I must return to Karazhan."

"But..."

"Get these soldiers safely back to Stormwind." Medivh cut him off quietly. The arcane magic flowed from his hand to the runes in the earth sparking them to glowing light, making the air around crackle low. Discouraged, Khadgar bit his lip and hung his head desperately. What did he expect anyway...

"You did well today" Medivh added softly and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. Khadgar froze, not even breathing, too afraid to frighten the precious moment away. Medivh waved his hand letting the luminous spark of energy finally slip from delicate fingers, and Khadgar stepped into the circle, slightly surprised of himself. The world around shook violently and the flash of darkness blinded him for a second. When he opened his eyes, Kharazhan's familiar walls were around him.

The Guardian was lying still at his feet.

***

When Medivh woke up, the sun was already setting. The evening light was shining upon his face, streaming softly through the stained-glass windows. Khadgar did not hear but felt the Guardian's awakening - the room suddenly was filled with magic, like a bowl brimming with fresh water. The young man's whole body was aching because of sitting in the uncomfortable position for hours, but at the first quiet moan from the Guardian he jumped off the couch under the stairs and rushed to the older mage.

"Guardian? What a relief, you're awake..." he muttered breathlessly. Medivh just stared through him blankly, his eyes wandered over the room, apparently seeing nothing, and for a brief moment Khadgar was paralyzed with dread.

"Who are you?" Medivh asked slowly, as if every word physically hurt him. His lips cracked, dry with thirst, and a small drop of blood was forming at the corner of his mouth.

Khadgar blinked owlishly. And immediately felt ashamed of himself. The Guardian wasn't probably able to even recall his own name in such a state, after that much stress. Combat magic was draining. Khadgar himself could power a mystic bolt or two, but that was all. It was perfectly normal for a mage of his age. Medivh, on the other hand, invoked powers Khadgar has never even heard about – so what could he know about any possible side effects of all that?

"I am Khadgar, sir," he introduced himself awkwardly, shifting slightly so that Medivh could see him if he wanted to. "From the Kirin Tor. I mean, from Dalaran. Well not anymore, but..."

He felt like he was casting conversational stones into the water, hoping for a response to any of them. Medivh's unfocused gaze rested on the young man's face for a moment, not giving up any thought. He then closed his eyes, slipping slowly into the font until the bright blue mana reached his jaw.

"Of course. How could I forget... Khadgar from the Kirin Tor. Our renounced one," he fell silent sucking the air through gritted teeth. "I told you to head back to Stormwind, so what are you doing here?"

Khadgar stared at the floor, feeling his face getting hotter. He was expecting some scolding for his disobedience, sure, but he really hoped for it to be postponed or maybe even condoned. The young mage had no wish to become an errand boy for Lothar or Medivh. It was his vigilance that had saved the kingdom a great deal of trouble after all, and though he lacked any self-conceit, Khadgar felt almost wounded. He just wanted to help and still every single person treated him like he was a nuisance. And now this. When he almost believed he had succeeded in earning the Guardian's trust and respect, Medivh brought him down to earth in a moment. The fall wasn't painful – he hadn't ascended that high, – but upsetting none the less. It was not fair.

"With all due respect, Guardian," he blurted out passionately, "I am neither your apprentice nor a servant. And you have no right to order me around."

He bit his tongue, immediately regretting the harsh words. The Archmage Antonidas would have never tolerated such a tone – not even from a graduated student. And Khadgar was just a dropout, a fugitive. To his surprise, though, the Guardian did not react to his outburst at all.

"I thought you might need help... More than Lord Lothar." he added awkwardly, quieter, still feeling his heart slamming against his chest.

Medivh hummed lightly and it took Khadgar a moment to realize that the great mage was trying to keep himself from laughing out loud. _"It must be a good thing, right?"_ Khadgar thought to himself, almost panicking, desperate to keep track on the Guardian's mood swings.

"Well, it is too late to teleport you back anyway. Perhaps I'll make some use of you here."

Khadgar nearly thought he misheard it. Did the Magus just allowed him to stay in Karazhan? To assist him?

"Where is Moroes, by the way?" asked the Guardian, carefully placing himself on the side of the font. Hesitantly, Khadgar reached out to him to help and almost fell into the shining pool, when Medivh moved away from the touch, frowning.

"He... he's downstairs..." the boy muttered, "He told me to stay with you and left to serve the dinner."

He spoke the truth. Moroes appeared seconds later after their return, suddenly manifesting out of the shadows, and helped Khadgar to carry his master to the font. Unlike Medivh, Moroes was extremely friendly, maybe a bit of odd, though. He didn't ask any questions and smiled when Khadgar folded his cloak under Medivh's head. Seeing that the Guardian was in good hands - which flattered Khadgar pretty much - he left with a promise to come back with dinner.

Hours had passed. Khadgar dozed off once or twice, but didn't feel rested at all: his head was hurting awfully and whole body aching after the insane day. He could have had a hot tub, a dinner and a healthy, comfortable sleep in King Llane's palace, had he followed Medivh's orders.

 _"Well,"_ he thought to himself, getting to his feet shakily, _"It could have been much worse."_ Lord Lothar could have thrown him into the dungeons for breaking into the barracks.

Suddenly Moroes appeared by the entrance, almost out of thin air, holding a giant tray.

 _"How does he do that?"_ Khadgar wondered silently, starting to doubt that Moroes was even human.

"Ah, you're awake, master," the castellan said, making his way to the two mages. "I am glad. Are you feeling better now?"

Medivh nodded and got up slowly. His boots were sitting by the wall, along with the Guardian's staff - Atiesh, - but he ignored them completely, remaining barefoot. 

This time Khadgar didn't try to help, recalling the previous failure. He moved uncertainly and looked around, nervously wiping his palms on his pants. The only table in the room was fully occupied with some lumps of clay and working tools, the broad box beside the coach - with Khadgar's satchel. He picked it up and clutched it in his arms, not sure what to do with himself.

"Such a pleasant young man" Moroes nodded thankfully, placing the tray on the top of the box, "Very helpful. What a pity he won't be around for long."

Khadgar stole a glance at the older mage. His ribs were still aching after the incident in the library and he had no wish to somehow anger the Guardian once again. He still couldn't figure out why his appearance in the tower has infuriated Medivh so much earlier. Did he hate the Kirin Tor to that extent? Or did he abhor the very thought of letting someone take his place, his powers? Well, he didn't have to worry about it now. Until the Kirin Tor find themselves a new student to train, that is...

Whatever the reason, it didn't matter anymore. Karazhan could have been Khadgar's home had he not ran away from Dalaran. And Moroes would have probably served him with the same eagerness and loyalty. Thousands of doors were opened before the young mage but the one leading to this tower has been closed forever. Khadgar didn't regret his decision - mostly. His heart was heavy with some strange longing, with a guilt of some sort. Was he feeling guilty about failing to match the expectations of his mentors? Making things so complicated for everyone? Or maybe just about upsetting a nice old man?

"Who knows..." Medivh murmured thoughtfully, his voice, soft and soothing, giving Khadgar goosebumps. The boy stumbled and stared at the Guardian, stunned.

Medivh looked much better now: little wrinkles around his eyes, but no dark circles, his mouth relaxed and his shoulders straightened. He looked almost estranged and Khadgar couldn't decide if the great mage was serious or not. Keeping up with the changes in Medivh's mood was no easier than riding a whirlwind - literally.

"Excuse me, magus?"

"Make yourself useful, since you're here," Medivh surprised him once again and turned around dramatically nearly whipping Khadgar's face with a sleeve. "I could use a spare pair of hands. Go clean up downstairs."

"The... the library?.."

"You are free to start from the stables if you wish, but yes. The library. It's a mess down there, all because of you, so - would you kindly?"

Khadgar almost snapped at the unkind remark but decided it would be wiser to just gracefully ignore it. His fault, right. As if he asked to throw him against the bookshelves... He couldn't even imagine the scale of chaos in the library after their "acquaintance". The young man straightened up, took a deep breath - inhailing the tempting scent of hot food and herbal tea, - and breathed out slowly. If the Guardian wanted an excuse to throw him out of the tower he would have to wait a little longer.

He just couldn't miss an opportunity to properly examine Karazhan's great library.

"Khadgar," Medivh's voice caught him on the stairs and the boy turned around sheepishly. Medivh was standing in the doorway with his back to the light, his shadow streaming down the steps.

"Yes, sir?"

"Be careful. This tower is full of dangers." Medivh fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. "Just clean up the library. Don't look for trouble - whatever you might see or hear."

Confused, Khadgar nodded. Medivh's warning was clearly not a threat, but what dangers could be possibly contained in Karazhan? The dark ghostly figure made of smoke came to his mind immediately and Khadgar chose to take the Guardian's advice. 

If the rumors were true, Karazhan was no mere tower, but a place of tremendous power - the mana flows from all the Azeroth channeled here. Nobody knew how and when Karazhan has been built, but there was an old legend telling that thousands of years before a meteor hit the ground here. The enormous blast had teared the very fabric of reality and infused the valley around with a unique energy, and a white-stone tower had grown in its heart on its own. Ages had passed since then and the burnt lanscape had healed its wounds, covered itself with thick forests. All the intelligent races had been avoiding Karazhan for years, until the first Guardian arrived.

Khadgar himself didn't know the truth and suspected that Medivh could tell him a completely different version of the story - if he wanted to, of course. One way or another, this tower kept secrets the mages of the Kirin Tor were ready to kill for, without a second thought. Khadgar had no doubt that some of Karazhan's secrets could kill them in return.

Some strange, disturbing feeling was bothering him all the way down. Like he was missing something. He had reached the bottom of the stairs when he finally realized what it was.

Medivh - despite any laws of nature - had two shadows. One of them was creeping down the steps, directly opposite to the sun. Another was reaching somewhere to the side.


	2. Chapter 2

The library was a disaster area.

Khadgar looked around the ruins with an impressed whistle. The bookcases he knocked down in flight earlier had keeled dangerously and were balancing on each other, threatening to slip and pin down whoever was unlucky enough to happen between them. Dozens of opened books were just lying around, many others were scattered across the room by the arcane surge. Some ancient tomes, chained to the bookcases, were unshelved and hanging from their links like prisoners in a dungeon cell. The sight of it confused Khadgar a bit - who would have even thought of stealing from Karazhan, from the sanctuary of the Guardian himself? The young man glanced at one of the volumes, with a cover lined with dark metal, and frowned - he wasn't familiar with the rough, square symbols on its spine, they reminded him of no known language..

Loose pages covered everything around like leaves on the forest floor, and Khadgar had to step over them with great caution. The hit that brought the bookshelves down has beaten the dust out of them as well, and now it was swirling in the streaks of slowly fainting light from the closest window.

"The Guardian does not need an assistant," he muttered, waving the dust cloud away. "He needs a housekeeper."

He approached the wall and looked up, letting out a deep sigh. The library was not just big - it was enormous and Khadgar realized that he wouldn’t be able to read every book in here, even if he spent his whole life in the tower.. Only now he noticed wrought Iron platforms that created an upper gallery with narrow bridges to each of the hanged bookcases – the construction looked like a steel web from below. Khadgar put his satchel on the floor, not even looking, and tried to count all the shelves floating in the air. His neck felt numb soon enough.

"This is amazing..." the young man let out breathlessly and rubbed his neck. The hair on the back of it was standing up for some reason. Khadgar frowned and tried to smooth the short strands but froze, feeling someone's gaze on him.

Could it be that dark-smoked figure from earlier, still haunting him? Or maybe that strange second shadow?.. No, that was foolish. A trick of the light, nothing else.

 _I am safer here than anywhere in the whole world. It's just my imagination,_ he told himself and spun around. For a quick second there, his eyes caught some movement in the air, it shifted slightly, vibrating, like on a hot summer day, but he blinked and it was perfectly still again, like nothing happened. Except it got a little colder. With a shudder, Khadgar looked down on the mark on his forearm, just in case. Nothing. Still, he couldn't help the feeling that he just saw a ghost. Or a ghost saw him.

Something rustled under his foot. Khadgar jerked away, only then daring to look down. It was just a loose page, yellowed in time, covered with worn out ink. Slightly embarrassed, he kneeled to pick up the sheet and tried to smooth it carefully.

He wanted to believe that he’d made the right choice when he disobeyed Medivh's orders. Not because of what the great mage or lord Lothar could think of him – he _needed_ to be certain of his decision. Mages of the Kirin Thor, passive and indifferent, had never understood his urge to stand up for those who couldn't protect themselves. He was no Guardian, not even an initiate, but he wanted to help them all – the defenseless people of Westfall and Lakeshire, king Llane, seeking nothing but peace for his country, even Me...

"Damn it!.." a sharp and hot pain forced him to cut off the dangerous thought. He pressed the hurt finger to his lips, trying to stop the blood but it was too late – a dark spot, crimson like a sealing wax, spread over the edge of the page, spoiling it mercilessly.

Khadgar let out a frustrated sigh and headed to the fallen shelves. He wanted to be done with the most unpleasant part as soon as possible.

After the first attempt it became clear that he wasn't strong enough to move a heavy bookcase by himself. Once Khadgar tried to press it slightly it slipped even further instead of getting upright. Khadgar shook his head, a bit of sweat on his temples, his back aching horribly again.

"Very well then..." he frowned and let the stubborn piece of wood out.

Only the fear of being pinned down by the massive case kept him from kicking it. Pity, but he was a mage after all, not one of Lothar's broad-shoudered soldiers. So he should solve the problem like a mage.

Khadgar rolled up his sleeves, shook his wrists lightly. He felt tired but not exhausted – the font was close and a little nap had restored his strength a bit. A meal or at least some water would be nice, but the young mage decided he should consider it a challenge for himself. If the Guardian wanted him to organize his library on an empty stomach – so be it. Maybe he was a fool for putting his trust in Medivh's hands, but he really hoped the magus wouldn't forget that his new assistant was just a mere mortal.

Khadgar knew the spell Medivh casted on him – every student was familiar with it from the first years in Dalaran. The weight of an object didn't matter, only the invoker's will and sense of discipline. The Guardian's fragile form was a convenient front for his might: he had no trouble in tossing the young man around like some helpless pup with just a simple wave of a wrist. Khadgar heard some stories about great mages of the past, who were able to lift a mountain without breaking a sweat. He was far from the great, of course, but no one had ever questioned his talent or his diligence. He knew he could handle some stupid bookshelf.

The Arcane streamed to his palms obediently, once he called for it, and the heavy case rose into the air, floating. Ecstatic, Khadgar let out a victorious cry and nearly lost his concentration. He looked around, blushing slightly, and forced himself to focus.

His head was exploding by the time all the bookshelves were set in their place, but the young mage was extremely proud of himself. After months without a proper practice it was easy to make a mistake, but he hadn't.

He stepped closer to the piled books on the floor, stumbling. Why would he even think that the worst part was over? The quick glance concluded, that one - some of the tomes were missing an author, so it was impossible to sort them out alphabetically; and two - he had absolutely no idea where they were placed before. So Khadgar was left with only one option: to learn the content of each book and sort them by subject.

Utterly drained, he slipped to the dirty floor and reached out for the closest volume. 

*** 

He was woken up by the sound of a ticking clock. He yawned and rubbed his sore eyes tiredly. The moon was still silvering the window glass. The night was quiet, the whole library as well, but a mechanical heart was slowly beating in this tense silence. Khadgar could have sworn he hadn’t seen a single clock while working.

_Tick-tock._

Bewildered, the young man looked around trying to find the source of the noise. Was it ticking before? Or maybe it was just an echo of his dream? He was dreaming of something... Khadgar frowned, trying to recall any detail, but it all faded, leaving only a disturbing, cold sediment. For some reason he felt even worse than before falling asleep, like he took a sip of a herbal potion, the bitter taste settled not on his tongue, but his heart. And that sound...

His curiosity overcame the voice of reason soon enough and Khadgar got up from the floor, completely forgetting the Guardian's previous warning. He moved hesitantly. Where could the sound come from? He took a few steps forward, to the stairs, but the ticking didn't grow any louder. Some steps alongside the bookcases, walking clockwise. A little further. Soon the young man regretted not having at least a sewing thread to lead him back to the place he had started from. He honestly doubted he could find it even from the second level's height now, when all the bookshelves have taken their rightful places. And he didn't finish organizing the books yet... Khadgar turned around, groaning desperately. What's even gotten into him? A ticking clock, big deal. Probably was forgotten on one of the shelves by someone years ago. Nothing more.

He had to remind himself that he was just a guest in Karazhan. He was allowed to help, not snoop around.

The bookshelves were filled with all kinds of tomes, with covers gilded and wrought, some of them so old they barely held the pages within – but in dim blue light they all looked the same. And for some reason Khadgar started to doubt he even was here before. But that just couldn't be, right? The more he proceeded the the farther appeared the stairs in the center of the room, and even when he tried to head straight to it, he could not come any closer. That was ridiculous.

"I must be sleeping," the boy tried to convince himself, taking the next turn and leaning closer to a wooden case. On his right he saw a torch on the wall, its blue ghostly light wasn't scaring the shadows away entirely, but it was enough to save him from breaking his neck in this pitch darkness. Not able to resist, Khadgar reached out for the azure flame, but didn't feel any heat at all. That was new! Back in Dalaran they were using phosphorescent crystals or minor elementals caged in lamps, mirrors and sometimes even glowing bugs, but here, in this tower things were so different.

The monotonous ticking stopped suddenly. In the thick silence of the library Khadgar could hear the deafening sound of his own breathing, as if he was alone in the whole world in that exact moment.

A second later he realized he was wrong – the ticking didn't stop, but got slower, and a sudden loud click somewhere behind his back made the young man jump nervously. Khadgar shook his head – something wasn't right.

His breath froze, a drop of cool sweat pricked his temple. Something was approaching, whispering like a ghost, hissing like a snake, closer with every breath, preparing to attack.

Khadgar closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He was safe. The Guardian would know, if something sinister happened. It was just a bad dream.

He decided not to challenge the fate. And ran – away from the creeping darkness and whispers, deeper into the labyrinth of towering bookstacks. The air before him shivered disturbingly and faded into the velvet blackness. Terrified, Khadgar raised his hand but abandoned the idea. What would he fight - a big, scary nothing? He backed away from the dark.

Behind his back, the room continued drowning in the gloom, forcing him to search for a way out desperately. Where to? Deeper into the room or back, to the stairs? What if something bad happened to the Guardian? Or to the kind old man? What if they needed help as well? Buried in the frantic thoughts, Khadgar missed the right turn. The next one led him into the heart of battle.

It was totally a dream. But how could he feel everything with such a clarity, like all of it was real? The heavy smell of smoke and magic in the air, the ground, dry and hot under his feet, the wind lashing against his body. He could still feel his back aching, he knew he had fallen asleep before he heard the clock. He knew there couldn't be a sky like this in his world.

Khadgar froze, not able to avert his eyes. It weren't the two moons, huge, hovering above him heavily that terrified him the most. A fel-green fire was pouring like blood from the scar in the crimson sky and monstrous, abhorrent creatures were emerging from the spots where it touched the ground. Their skin was black as tar, their bodies deformed, with horns of all shapes and sizes crowning their heads. They spread their massive wings, taking off to the sky, flying so high they could be confused for a flock of dark-feathered birds. The earth shook from the deafening howl.

Khadgar stumbled, trying to stay on his feet, waving his hands helplessly. He hit something suddenly, his palm slid on something solid and cool. With a hoarse cry he turned around only to see an armored man. A soldier of Stormwind, here! The man was shouting something to the side, but Khadgar could not make out a word of it for some reason. More than that - the soldier ignored him completely, like he was invisible. He dared to come closer.

To Khadgar's relief, his hand didn't pass through the plate, when he reached out to touch the man's shoulder. He could feel a rough scratch on a dimpled metal – from a sword or an axe, – but failed to wipe away the dirt from it, no matter how hard he rubbed, there was a strange resistance when he tried. What on earth was happening to him? Was he dreaming? Was it something else, something different? Khadgar was aware of the existence of visions and seers, but really doubted his own ability to connect to the future. Or was it the past he was seeing? He recalled the race against the darkness in the library and wondered if Karazhan itself was trying to tell him something important.

Slowly regaining his senses, Khadgar forced himself to turn away from the approaching demonic legion to look at their opponents. His throat got tight immediately at the realization that all these people were here not because they had chosen to fight at this spot. They just didn't have any other options. Here, on the ruins of once proud fort they were going to make their last stand.

Contrary to his expectations, not all of them were humans. A muscular, stocky dwarf was reloading a grunting mortar not far from Khadgar, a couple of frowning elves in silver armor talking quietly – their words sounding like from underwater to him. There was also a tiny gnome woman, standing on a shattered boulder, focusing all her attention on preparing some complicated spell.

They were a small troop, not an army, and Khadgar truly believed they would fight bravely, but just a glance on the screeching, howling dark armada in the bloodied skies made him hang his head in shame - as if all those men and women's cruel fate was his fault, and his alone. His eyes spotted a banner fluttering in the wind – a golden lion on a blue, like the sky of their world, canvas. So many of them were here - all of different races - and all of them have gathered under that banner, only to fall in a losing battle. Khadgar bit his lip. If they all die here, will anyone mourn their fates, sing their names back at home?

The absence of audible sounds has dulled his senses and a sudden movement right next to him startled him. He dropped to the ground awkwardly, watching a big black cat sprinting past him, turning into an elf on a full move. A cat! Into an elf! At least, Khadgar guessed it was an elf, for he had never seen such tall and... bluish elves.

Then, another person came into his sight – a tall woman, much taller than him, with light purple skin. A pair of horns was crowning her head, and her feet were definitely hooves from the knee down, but, unlike the demons above, she did not inflict any fear, she wasn't ugly or terrifying. On the contrary, for a moment there Khadgar almost forgot to breathe – that beautiful she was. It wasn't even her appearance that stroke him the most, but her composure, a strange aura of peace and serenity around. Her face darkened slightly, while she was listening to the elf's report, and then she said something over her shoulder. Khadgar followed her gaze and finally saw the person she was adressing.

The man, that came out from the crowd could be forty years old, or a hundred - Khadgar couldn't figure out his age, couldn't judge by his changing, blurry appearance. His face was clean-shaven, his silver hair, contrary to the Kirin Tor fashion - just slicked back. A dark blue robe under the layers of leather and chain mail indicated that he was a mage, but what a peculiar one he was. He didn't look like any of lazy, arrogant wizards running Dalaran. He moved lightly, with confidence and a straight posture, tightening his grip on Atiesh, and didn't have a trace of fear of what was coming on his face.

_Wait a second, Atiesh?!_

Khadgar forgot at once about the demonic army and jumped to his feet. He stared hungrily at the familiar staff, at the clothes of it's bearer, his gaze catching every possible detail – long gloves, the small pouch on the waist, the metallic glow on armored shoulders, the leather belt replacing the collar. Was this man a Guardian? Was Karazhan showing him a Guardian from the future? But why?

What happened then scared the boy much more than the closing darkness in the library, more than the horde of winged deadly creatures in the skies. The man froze suddenly and looked right at him, like he was able to see Khadgar. The young mage didn't expect that at all and stumbled, feeling his heart beating loudly in his chest, as if against the walls of a deep well, drops of sweat dripping down his back. He forced himself to look into the man's bright eyes – and felt like the earth was vanishing under his feet. It wasn't the transforming elf this time, nor the demons above his head.

Khadgar knew that face. He saw that face in the mirror, every day. It got rougher, skin wrinkled a bit, the hair turned white - from age or sorrow, he could not tell, - but it was his face.

The mage from the future smiled at him, as if trying to cheer him up, and nodded, once. He tighten his grip on the staff then and faced his allies. The sky above them got clouded with a screeching swarm. The thunder of countless wings was almost unbearable and Khadgar covered his ears, not taking his eyes from the older mage, when the world around him started flashing. The first creatures attempted to attack the leaders but were erased on place in a burst of Light and arcane magic. A storm of arrows whistled into the air. The silver-haired commander waved his hands, covering the camp with a magic shield and the monstrosities that hit it were desintegrated into ashes in an instant. The horned woman raised her hammer with a muffled cry and a golden incinerating rain poured from above. Khadgar was watching the battle numbly, frozen in place. These people just couldn't win, but still were fighting bravely for something more than their lives.

The mage commander turned around, shouting something. The woman and the elf picked the battle cry immidiately and the rest of the troop followed, as if they were waiting for it. They took off as one and headed towards the certain death. A released spell slipped with a burst of sparkles from the little gnome's hands and stroke down with a massive firestorm, burning the approaching monsters mercilessly. She was shouting something loudly as well.

The barricades set up by the soldiers proved to be no tougher than a sand castle, once they faced the unleashed monstrous force. The demons were tearing apart anything that came in their way - flesh and stone and ground. Once the mages and the warriors drove the enemy back, another wave came, even fiercer, stronger. One of the soldiers toppled down beside Khadgar, beheaded by the enormous claws - his blood flowed lazily to the young man's boots. Soaked with green and red blood, the earth shook once again and began to crumble. Despite himself, Khadgar backed, turning to run. And fell right into the heart of thick darkness.

Blackness over him, blackness under his feet - the boy panicked, trying to hold on something, on the light somewhere far away, hoping with all his heart he would be able to wake up. Was this his end? Was he really destined to fall one day in this battle? He wanted to scream, to say something to the man with his face, to ask, but he couldn't make a sound. The alien world shut before him like a book, and the last thing Khadgar saw before the darkness had swallowed him was a patch of crimson sky.

***

The library remained intact. The thought brought him a great relief and Khadgar tried to cling to it, fighting the dizziness and nausea desperately. It was just a dream, none of it happened, everything was fine.

Groaning, he sit up straight and rubbed his head. There was a bump of impressive size on the back of it, so it wasn't surprising he was feeling like someone bashed his skull with something really, really heavy. Like a hammer. The giant in the forest had a pretty massive hammer with him, hadn't he?..

"Are you alright?" he heard a familiar voice from above and cringed as the echoing pain from the sound reverberated through his poor head with thunderous claps.

Too bad, the Arcane wasn't able to heal him. It could destroy or create, but couldn't deny neither death, nor decay. Priests called it faith, mages called it balance. One way or another, Khadgar's head was killing him right now, and there wasn't any healer in the tower - this he knew for sure.

"What?.." his lips were dry and immediately hurt from the merest attempt to talk.

"You alright, boy?" Moroes repeated patiently.

The old man was standing over him, calm and unimpressed, hands clasped behind his back, an embodiment of polite curiosity. His gaze wandered over the young man's face, lingered on his temple. Khadgar would probably have gotten nervous, had he not been feeling his mind falling apart at the moment.

"I guess..." He frowned and tried to get up, but failed miserably when his trembling fingers slipped from the shelf he was trying to hang on to. "Ugh..."

Now he knew how the Guardian felt when teleporting them both to Karazhan.

Khadgar wondered if it was really that bad in his case or he just felt incredibly sorry for himself.

"Would be unwise to sleep on the floor. Can be pretty drafty down there. Also dusty."

"Yeah..." Khadgar muttered. It wasn't the dust or the draught that troubled him. He recalled the horrible vision and the mage who wore his face, who frightened him much more than the raging horde of demons or the red skies. His eyes, oddly bright, as if bleached with mana, gazed right into the boy's soul, leaving a strange, disturbing feeling there.

"Light, I... I saw... I was..." he gasped, not sure how to explain, but Moroes just smiled knowingly.

"Misplaced?"

Khadgar nodded mutely.

"It happens quite often. Powerful magic, not safe sometimes. Do not trust everything you see here." The castellan peaceful tone didn't reassured the boy at all, on the contrary - he had dozens of questions to ask. He wasn't given a chance because Moroes caught him by the wrist, helping him to his feet easily. Khadgar's legs were still trembling.

"The Guardian ordered to feed you and show you to your room. Please, forgive him for sending you off here this late. But he had his reasons. He always does. You don't mind the porridge and sausages, do you?"

Taken Khadgar's silence as agreement, he smiled, satisfied, and headed to the stairs. The young mage looked around, leaning on the nearest bookcase. There were no signs of the vision, no soldiers, no demonic legion in the sky. The invisible clock stopped ticking as well. Only the memory of all this remained, but Khadgar knew it was real. It felt real.

He rubbed his face. He will ask the Guardian about the demons and the crimson sky, but first he'll have some rest.

Khadgar picked up his satchel and hurried after Moroes. He didn't want to get 'misplaced' again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LONG LAST. I'm sorry it took so long, I'll try to write faster. All thanks for the translation as always go to my dear Ihtafeer ♥

**Author's Note:**

> The translation is unpolished. If you see any mistakes and want to correct something, please feel free to do so! English isn't our mother tongue :)


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